


Continuity

by dotfic



Series: syntaxverse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Future Fic, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-05
Updated: 2009-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Castiel talk, and Dean has a chick-flick moment he'll never know about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continuity

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/camille_is_here/profile)[**camille_is_here**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/camille_is_here/) , who asked for _Castiel annoyed because Dean makes it so difficult for Castiel to keep him alive! With Schmoop!_ (This didn't wind up exactly like that, but it's close). Set in the [syntaxverse](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/tag/syntax+%27verse), which you don't have to have read to read this. Thank you to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/destina/profile)[**destina**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/destina/) for the beta.

  
It's been about a year since they averted an apocalypse. No, not An Apocalypse, The Apocalypse, the End Times. Sam's mind keeps stuttering over that, the muscle-weakening relief of it being over, and the world still standing, as well as the fact that he and his brother were the bookends for it. It's been about a year since they locked Lucifer back in his cage, and Sam's still looking over his shoulder.

Sam's fingers clench tight around Dean's wrist while Dean dangles off the edge of the ravine. There's flannel, skin, and bone beneath Sam's fingers, and his shoulder's probably going to pop out of its socket any moment now. With his other hand, he grabs the back of Dean's shirt. He feels his brother's muscles straining as Dean tries to pull himself back up, and Sam grabs on, the pain in his shoulders and neck a dull irrelevance.

Moving with an oily grace, the werecats advance, crouched low and about to spring, their long slow growls growing in pitch. Sam's shotgun lies on the ground a few feet away. He can reach for it to fend off the 'cats, or he can hang onto Dean.

Dean's cursing a steady streak under his breath, toes of his boots digging into the rock. The skin at his wrist goes white where Sam's fingers grip him.

The werecats stop. One of them wriggles its haunches and Sam starts to wish he still had some kind of telekinetic mojo because they are deeply screwed.

Dean swings one leg up, Sam tugs, while bits of rock and debris slide and fall. He hears them snap against the rocks below.

There's a sound like a sail against the wind, the first werecat leaps, and then Sam feels fingers press against his forehead and a rush of air.

Castiel drops them at the entrance to the trail, near the Impala. He looks down at them, his mouth in a tight line that reminds Sam weirdly of the times when their father was about to yell a lot.

"Oh, hey, Cas." Lying on his back and out of breath, Dean lifts a hand in greeting.

The glare Castiel shoots Dean makes Sam glad that the angel isn't quite as powerful as he once was, because that stare seems like it could maybe leave a smoldering ring of blackened ash on the ground.

"Are you all right, Sam?" Castiel asks, his voice even. His gaze flicks to Sam, then returns to Dean, still full of glare.

"Yeah." Sam sits up, wiping dirt and twigs off the front of his shirt.

These days, Castiel might dress more like a hunter -- he's long since given up the business suit and trenchcoat -- but he still holds himself with a rigid formality at times, especially when he's angry. Sam can imagine the trenchcoat as Castiel steps over to Dean, reaches down, grabs his shoulders, and yanks him to his feet.

Dean doesn't have time for more than a startled yelp before Castiel kisses him, then shoves him back.

"You're an asshole," Cas says.

There's another snap of air, and Castiel's gone.

It would be almost funny, the look of total bewilderment on Dean's face, except for how much Sam wants to punch Dean in the face.

"What?" Dean says, as Sam pushes himself to his feet and sighs. "What?"

* * *

This week, it's werecats. Last week it was werewolves. A few days before that, a nest of goblins, then before that a poltergeist, a Grindylow and a Spring Heeled Jack.

The problem is that Dean's bored. Dean hunts like this when he's feeling cornered or scared. He hunts like this when he doesn't know what their next move should be. He also hunts like this when he's not sure what else to do with his time and after the relentless, frantic burn of the past few years, Sam can't blame his brother for wondering how to spend his time now that nothing huge is bearing down on them like an eighteen-wheeler. Sam feels the same, an itch beneath his skin, but he can see the possibility of a life that isn't only hunting now, and strains towards it enough to shake the itch.

So, he gets it, what's going on with Dean, but Dean's not only bored, he's growing reckless. Often hunting creatures that rove in packs, often on impulse. He's burning off adrenaline, and maybe doing it for other reasons.

It's well past midnight when Sam gives up trying to sleep, pulls on jeans and a t-shirt and walks barefoot through the small house that settles in around him, feeling like home.

He goes out to the porch, only to find Castiel already sitting on the top step, wearing the jeans and shirt he was in earlier, staring out at the woods at the edge of the yard. His head's canted to one side, gaze fixed, but it's more as if he's listening than looking, his body uncannily still. The hair at the back of Sam's neck prickles. He's not afraid of Cas, not any more, but there are moments when he's thrown back to a time when he was.

Two small silver disks flash in the trees, an animal, and wink out. The boards creak under Sam's feet and Castiel turns to look up at him.

"We're going to have to say something to him." Sam sits down next to Castiel, and leans forward with his chest against his knees a moment, feeling tired and ragged, before he straightens up again.

"I don't know what to say." Castiel's fingers twitch at his knee, curling against the denim. "Your brother can be exceedingly stubborn."

"No, really?" Sam picks at a piece of flaking paint on the porch railing. They can ask Dean to take care of that. It would keep him busy for an afternoon at least.

"I don't understand," Castiel says. "Why he does this. Throwing himself towards the fire when you both fought so hard to be free of it."

"That part of it doesn't go away. Sure, the big stuff, the apocalypse, Lucifer, all that shit, yeah. We never wanted any of that, and we're glad to be done with it. But hunting werecats and ghosts and things like that...that's just..." Sam shrugs. "Normal. If you're us."

Castiel tilts his head back, looking up past the edge of the porch roof towards the stars scattered across the sky. "What if I'm too late to catch him one time?" Then he turns his gaze towards Sam, who feels pinned by it. "What if you are? What if we miss?"

Beneath the measured tone, Sam hears the break in his voice, a rawness. Sam's chest aches at it. He's not even sure Dean fully gets it, notices how Castiel looks at him sometimes. It stirs what he guesses could be envy. Maybe a little jealousy because Dean's added someone, has someone not just Sam, and also because lately, for Sam it's been a string of one-night stands or one-week flings, and he remembers having more.

It's like he's turning into Dean. Sam almost laughs out loud at the thought but his stomach feels heavy. He remembers pulling Castiel aside last year, after Dean and Castiel started up whatever this thing is between them, and saying, _hey, I'm glad for you guys. If you hurt him I will send you to Hell myself,_ and Castiel giving him a tight nod, eyes wide. But Sam's fear has shifted. Cas isn't invulnerable, not any more (maybe never was, but more than he is now), he's learning to hunt, and it's one more worry.

It's not just for Dean's sake. Sam actually likes Cas. He's fun to debate with.

"Here's how I see it." Sam hugs his arms, curling his palms around his elbows. A bird or a bat flits across the sky, wings a dark gray space, barely there. "There's two of us, and one of him."

Castiel's eyebrows go up. "This is true."

"It'll be harder for him to argue with both of us at once."

A corner of Cas's mouth lifts in an almost-grin. "He'll yell a lot."

"Tough shit."

Castiel grin goes full at that, and for a second Sam sees what Dean must see. Then his grin fades. "What if he won't listen?"

Sam's fingers dig into the flesh at his elbows. He shivers. "Then we keep pulling him from the fire. We don't miss."

Castiel's hand falls warm onto Sam's shoulder. His fingers tighten. "We won't."

  
~end


End file.
